


Mine

by I_Am_The_Circle



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Character Study, Disposophobia, Gen, Hyperempathy, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_The_Circle/pseuds/I_Am_The_Circle
Summary: That's mine, he says, and by his point, everyone just laughs. Of course it is. Everything's his, isn't it? And on a normal day, he'd just nod self-importantly and that would be it. But it's not a normal day, and that's not what he does. No, today was apparently cleaning day. Everyone else was confused, because he loved cleaning, didn't he? He sang songs about how much he loved cleaning up trash. But it all depended on what exactly he considered trash, and evidently his definition differed slightly from his father's.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this. I should be finishing my mcga wips, but this happened instead. Just, y'know, in the mood for projecting my childhood phobia onto a puppet, I guess. Anyway, I love my greedy son & he's scared of the same things as me. Enjoy, I guess?

The message hadn't come firsthand, of course. It was delivered by the maid when he caught her digging through his things with the intention of tossing them into the garbage bag in her hand. _And what exactly are you doing?_ He had asked, and she responded that his father had ordered his old toys be thrown out.

 _But those are mine!_ he says, and she seems perplexed. _Your father will buy you new ones._ And she's right, of course she is. He could own the entire toy store if he wanted. But that wouldn't replace these particular toys, which belong to him. He tries to take the stuffed animal from her, save it from the plastic bag for which it is headed and she pulls it away, dangling it over his nine-year-old head where he cannot reach. _That's mine_ , he says, almost pleadingly, and she is laughing. _Rich people,_ she is almost definitely thinking. _They're ridiculous._ But he isn't thinking about that, because she's taken another toy and stuffed it into the bag and by now his heart is beating hard in his chest. _Stop that!_ He yells. I _'ll tell my father,_ he adds, as if his father would care. _Your father told me to do this,_ the maid responds, taking another one of his toys, a wind-up car, and shoving it carelessly into its plastic prison.

His eyes sting as he watches it disappear, blurring the slightest bit as he imagines how dark and awful it must be for the toys inside that horrid bag. They're his, he thinks desperately, how can he let this happen to them? He takes much pride and responsibility in owning everything- it's not a simple job. You have to know and care about each object within your possession, and he does. He remembers buying each stuffed animal, each plastic truck, remembers the unspoken promise that each toy would be his and only his forever. And now here he was, powerless to protect them as toy after toy plunged into the depths of the bag, ever fuller.

The first tear falls as a remote-controlled helicopter meets its doom. _Stop,_ he's yelling, _that's mine! That's mine, give it back!_ And his short arms are reaching and flailing to no avail as the maid grows more frustrated. _Look, kid,_ she says. _Just let it go. You'll get new ones._ But he can't imagine why this woman isn't listening. They're his, doesn't she understand? The truth is no, she doesn't understand. She can't- she's got kids at home who'd kill for one of these toys, and this rich kid's dad is throwing them all away with the the promise of countless more of newer model and make, but the child is distraught. Neither could possibly understand each other, so she simply dodges haphazard swipes from tiny arms, eyes rolling at the desperate sobs coming from the boy.

Eventually she has to shove her way past the hysterical child. Although he is begging and yelling and threatening, she is not listening, and leaves him feeling empty and incomplete on the floor of his overly fancy bedroom. He is overreacting, of course, even he can almost see this, but the panic racing in his veins renders him unable to stop the crying, even when maid and toys alike have long since left the room, destined for a landfill somewhere.


End file.
